The Tormentor
by Connie Nervegas
Summary: A hostage must learn to outwit his captors if he ever wants to see his family again.
1. Chapter 1

_I've just been getting tired of watching the turtles being tortured and figured it was their turn for revenge. Thought I'd look at things from the opposite angle. I like to make up my own villains because it's just so much fun. I hope their evil-doing ways are sufficient. This will probably be a serial story._

"You're more than just a disposable minion, aren't you?" it asked again. It had been asking the same questions for days now.

"It's hard for me to remember. These ropes are kind of tight and they're distracting me." I was tied to a chair. I'd been tied on and off for days. Hours in the same position. They did allow me to eat and use the bathroom, under strict supervision. I suppose they can't get information from a dead informant. I know that they need what I know. That's the only reason I'm alive.

I've been staring at this blue masked monster for so long now. I know its name, but haven't spoken it. It hasn't provided its name either. My father told me everything I need to know about these creatures and I know far more about them than they know about me and that's the way I'd like to keep it.

The room is empty except for me and it. I sit tied to one chair and it sits against the wall and watches. It looks at the clock on the wall. It watches me again. It asks me the same questions over and over. It doesn't seem to need to rest or eat or sleep.

"Why do you wear that mask?" I asked. "Got something to hide?"

"Yes," was all it said.

It stared for a while longer. Then it spoke. "I am very patient. But my brother isn't quite as patient as myself."

"Sucks for him, I guess," I said.

"And for you," it said, leaving its chair. It left the room.

Leonardo. That is the thing's name. It hadn't deviated from the questioning since I'd woken up in this place. I knew that there were three others. I also knew that one of them was somewhere in my father's stronghold, squealing in pain. What were they playing at? What kind of torture was this? They were fighting a clock and they all knew it.

A second turtle entered the room. The body language was different. All swagger. The blue one moved like a trained dancer. This one favored a lumberjack. The red. Raphael. I knew the names of course.

"How you doing?" it asked. It sat in the other chair with its arms and legs spread out. All confidence.

"I feel like I've been tied to a chair for three days."

"I guess you and my big brother have been getting to know each other."

"Not really. It doesn't talk."

"It!" the red one yelled, throwing its weight at me. "My brother is a he! He has a name!"

"Yes, Leonardo. And you are Raphael."

"Know a lot about us, huh?"

I should not have said that. He had goaded me. I was losing focus. "I only know a little."

The red one watched me for a minute. He didn't stare like his brother, but watched. He said, "He's more of an observer. Likes to think things through and ask questions first. Really get his head around stuff."

"That is an admirable trait." I tried to move my fingers, which were numb with sleep.

"But I'm more of a doer. I've been sitting out there for three days now with nothing to do but think up ways that the two of us can spend our time."

"I'm flattered that you think that much of me."

He got up and kicked the chair hard against the wall. I flinched at the noise. I hadn't heard a sound for three days except the incessantly docile voice of that blue devil and the crack of the wood on cement took me by surprise.

"I don't think of you at all. I think of my little brother." He began pacing like a caged animal. "Did you know that a little posse of your boss' minions dropped by yesterday to save you? They're all taking a dirt nap now. This leads us to believe that you're some kind of special snowflake. That true?"

I didn't respond. I knew that my silence would be an affirmation and tried to think of something fast. "I'm a liability. Probably sent to get rid of me before I could give you any information."

He stopped pacing. "Yeah. That could be. But the thing is I don't really care. I've had nobody to play Guitar Hero with for over four days now and I've been coming up lots of ways to make myself feel better."

I couldn't contain myself. My father has a mission. I know that and I know that these things are a large and immovable object in his way. "Well, the thing that you speak of is most likely dead by now, so you'll have to find other ways to amuse yourself from now on."

He knelt down in front of me. Only now could I see the patchwork of faint scars in his green skin and instantly regretted taunting him. He looked thoughtful, as if he were about to speak, but then I felt a weight slam into my head and found myself on my side on the floor. The chair had broken apart as I hit the floor and I could feel his hands grab me under the arms as he pulled me to my feet.

And so it began.


	2. Chapter 2

_I understand that Raph gets sort of creepy here, but my goal is to show the creepy side of them. I think it's cool. Because I'm sadistic. It's sort of bordering on horror now because the kid is turning out to be a real psycho._

The red one sat on the floor against the opposite wall. The sai in his hand dripped with my blood. He had not hurt me severely. I knew enough about death and its possibilities and limitations. That's all I've ever been taught. I knew he could not afford to kill me and so the wounds he had inflicted were merely scratches and gashes.

He actually looked bored, lying back against the wall. "Do you have a name?" he asked.

"Yes." I would not give him anything.

"I have a name too. Raphael. But you've heard it before."

"You are more talkative than your blue brother." I wanted to know more about him. How pleased my father would be if I learned something of importance. A way to kill these things and get them out of our way.

"Well, he's the strong silent type. I'm the people person." He laughed to himself. It was almost a bitter laugh. "You know, I'm tired. I'm tired of dealing with fuckwits like you. Guys who think that people are just a bunch of stepping stones to walk on so they can get to something else. I'm getting really tired of being shot at too. It's really starting to ruin my self esteem. I'm tired of looking at you and I would really gladly drive this through your skull." He held up his bloody sai. "I'm just real tired."

I felt a small triumph. "You need me."

"I need information. I need you for nothing."

"I'm not afraid of you. I know that you won't kill me."

He leaned forward towards me, smiling an almost charming smile. "Well, that's good because my Donny knows all kinds of ways to get you hurting that won't kill you."

I hesitated. So they had a professional. That was bad. My father employed scientists and doctors who had forgotten to take the Hippocratic Oath. They worked in his interrogation unit. Very creative men. I knew this Donny was the third turtle. Donatello. How intelligent could a green beast be? It could not compete with the interrogators employed by my father who were at this very moment injecting their brother with drugs to cause pain and hallucinations.

He giggled playfully and moved towards me until we were sitting eye to eye on the floor barely inches apart. "I see you squirming, boy. You're not afraid of 'it' are you? You may not see Don, but he sees you. He's pulling on the strings and we're just his little puppets in this theater of his. Get it? He's out there cooking up lots and lots of games to play. He's got no girl or job or anything, so he's got lots of time on his hands."

I knew he was lying. I leaned back against the wall and looked the other way. I lay down to sleep. He did not disturb me.

When I awoke, the blue devil had resumed its watch. It still stared, with an unseeing expression.

"You are no minion are you?" it asked again.

I felt of my wounds and realized that they had been bandaged and cleaned during my sleep. I made it no answer.

"Who is the Necromancer?"

The first time I had heard it ask this question, I had winced with shock. How did it know? What did it know? Now I know that it knows nothing but the name.

"What is The Calling?"

"I'm hungry," I said.

It didn't respond and preceded to the last question. "Where is Michelangelo?"

I always answer this last question. It has never responded. But it always closes its eyes for a second. "It is in a laboratory. I believe lobotimization is a specialty with my father's 'minions' as you call them."

I received my desired response. It closed its eyes long enough to take a deep breath. Should I have mentioned lobotimization? I feared that it may follow the statement down a logical track to the conclusion that I had spent my entire life working to hide. But of course it wouldn't. How could it? I had made so many threats against this Michelangelo, whom I had never met, and never will, and the thing has always made the same response.

It left its vigil and opened the dungeon door. Ah, the red headed angel. She had brought my food tray. On the first day her expression was hard and hateful, but her senses had dulled her to the horror of my captivity. I wanted that look of hatred again. Anything but this placid calm.

She placed the food tray in front of me and turned to leave. "Will Raphael be joining me again today?" I asked without any thought as to my words.

"I think so," she said, as she shut the door. "I'll tell him that you asked for him."

Hours. Hours with that blue thing and its never yielding stare. And the questions.

"You are no minion are you? What is the Necromancer? What is The Calling? You are no minion are you? What is the Necromancer? What is The Calling? You are no minion are you? What is the Necromancer? What is The Calling?"

Finally, when my senses and mind were too dulled to even imagine the fourth creature writhing in agony, the thing looked at the clock on the wall and abruptly left the room. I waited for something to happen and after an hour, Raphael entered.

He leaned against the wall near the door. "So I heard you asked for me. I'm real flattered. People don't usually request my presence. Especially our hostages."

"Do you entertain hostages often?"

"Not really." He sat next to me against the wall. "Consider yourself a special guest."

I watched the clock. The minute hand ticked by loudly. I could feel Raphael next to me as he withdrew one of his sais.

"What have you been doing?" I asked.

"Hmm?"

"What have you been doing since you were last here?"

"Played Guitar Hero by myself again."

I listened to the minute hand. He talked to me so much yesterday. Why wouldn't he talk? I could read the thoughts and feelings passing beneath his eyes, unlike the blue one. He was bored, contemplating his sai. He wanted to hurt me again, mainly to pass the time. He looked at my wounds, checking for the progress of my healing. He looked to the clock and his forehead creased, wondering how he would fill the time. A split second of sadness as his eyes dropped to the floor, widening, but unseeing. But it wasn't enough. I wanted to hear words. "It was your fault that your brother was captured, you know."

I looked to the side to see his expression. He closed his eyes for a second, just like his brother. He said, so quietly that I could barely hear him, "You think so?"

"I was there. I saw the fight. You left him. Do you remember what he called to you as you fled?"

I found myself on the floor, my nose bleeding profusely, before I had even finished the sentence.

He began the pacing. The wild animal in torment. I was lying on my side, the blood seeping into my mouth. I turned onto my back to see him.

"He said, 'Raph, don't leave me.' Do you remember?" He had said no such thing. He had said, "I'm going to break your skull and then stick that needle in your ass!" as he'd been sedated and thrown into the back of the van.

I knew I had pushed the right button. He buried the drawn sai deep into my stomach. I balled up with the pain and he bent over me, looking in my face as I lost consciousness.

I dreamed of cemeteries full of empty graves. I opened my eyes and saw that blue devil again, mocking me with its patience.

The clock struck twelve. So ended the fourth day.


	3. Chapter 3

_I was determined to get this chapter out today. I'm hoping that this isn't getting repetitive, but I have it delicately laid out. So don't worry. There is a goal in sight. I didn't intend for Raph to take so much screen time here, but the hostage had a mind of his own and demanded that._

The clock says twelve. I can't remember if it is twelve midnight or twelve noon. There is no natural lighting in this place. Raphael is with me. He is acting strangely. He is sitting in the corner drinking from a bottle and talking at me. He doesn't require my participation in this conversation, so I don't think it counts as a conversation.

"Everybody's always saying how I'm so out of control all the time." He took a long drink of his bottle. "I have all kinds of self control. I ain't killed any of brothers yet and I say, good for me."

He sat the bottle on the floor next to him and I was afraid he was going to fall silent. I said, "You won't need to kill your brothers. That will most likely be done for you."

"Ain't that the truth," he muttered to himself.

"How old are you?" I asked.

He shifted his legs back, momentarily guarded. "Sixteen. How old are you, precious?"

"I thought you were much older." That was also the truth. He sounded and looked older than his brother. "You look battle hardened."

"You don't."

I took offense. He could tell and laughed.

"Don't worry, cupcake. I'm sure you're the butchest boy at Creampuff Academy." He picked up his bottle and took another drink.

"Not that it is any of your business, but I have been trained extensively in military strategy, science, alchemy, the arts, philosophy…"

"Where did you go to school? Hogwarts?"

I knew he was fishing for information and as much as I would have liked to impress him with my accomplishments, I had to keep quiet. We didn't talk for about ten minutes. He just sat with his eyes closed. He almost looked like the blue one. I could tell he was not asleep because his body was not resting against the wall.

His eyes shot open. "Mikey wrote a will a while back. He only left me the cat. I'm still real mad about that. He didn't have much to… doesn't have… he doesn't have much to give away." I read the panic in his eyes. He instinctively grabbed the weapon at his side, as if he it would somehow give him protection from his fears.

"Did you want something else from him?"

He considered for a second. "Well, he doesn't really have anything worth giving. What I really want is to know why he has to keep pissing on me all time."

Did I hear that correctly? "Your brother urinates on you?"

He laughed and stood up. I shifted uneasily. My head was still aching from the past injuries he'd inflicted. He sat heavily at my side, his body language easy and friendly. He even offered me the bottle. "Yeah, he used to be a bed wetter. Now he just does it on purpose."

"Why?" He shrugged. I could see old scars in his green skin reflecting in the dim light. It sent a shiver through me. "You must have led a very exciting life and fought many battles."

"Yeah, I don't have anything to complain about. I like the action. There are some things I'm not a big fan of. I didn't really like that time my lung collapsed. That wasn't too much fun."

"You're a killer, aren't you?"

He didn't say anything for a while and then leaned his shell back against the wall. It made a soft scraping noise as he shifted his weight. "Yeah, I'm a killer."

What a disappointment. He didn't even seem bothered by the idea. I knew I could get a better reaction than that. "How many have you murdered?"

"Hey, if you join the Foot Clan, you're looking to end your life early. I don't kill guys who are just petty crooks. I don't even kill rapists. Not most of the time anyway."

This wouldn't do at all. I frustratedly took a drink out of the bottle that I still held loosely in my hand. I wished I hadn't. It burned like acid all the way down and I coughed until my eyes watered and my chest hurt. Raphael patted me roughly on the back. "Yeah, tends to do that to people."

"It's too bad that your brother is so weak. You may have survived the ordeal that it is undoubtedly going through, but I doubt that it would survive. The little one wearing the orange, I mean."

"He isn't the weak one." He took the bottle and drained it until it was empty.

Interesting. "Have you survived torture? You appear to have. You appear to have survived many things. Stabbings…" I pointed to a jagged scar on his arm. "Shootings… burns…"

"Well, it's nothing worse than the others have gone through and do you see Leo sitting in here getting drunk with the hostage? He's been living on three hours of sleep a night and he's usually no good with anything less than eight. And Donny has a keyboard shaped bruise on his forehead. And April looks fucking terrible. She's usually really hot. For a human anyway, I guess. Our father is so worried." He looked away from me for a second, looked back and said, "Your father must be worried too. Hasn't seen you in ages. Must be weird having a Necromancer for a dad. When you're dog died when you were a kid, did he bring it back to life?"

What? My father? How did he know that I was the son of the Necromancer? "I never said such a thing." I jumped to my feet and retreated as far away as from him as possible, across the room.

"You said something about your father last night. You were bragging about how evil your daddy is or something, so I just assumed…"

I had failed. I had gotten myself captured and now a perverse regard for my torturer, a mutated animal, had caused me to admit my own identity and to compromise my father's mission. _He should kill me now_, I thought. _No, you're too important to the cause. You must think of something._

He was watching. Amused. He was smiling good-naturedly and amused. I spat at him. I didn't have the power to hit him and my saliva fell halfway between us. "I'm hurt," he said, happy sarcasm in his voice. "I let you drink my whiskey. See if that ever happens again." He headed towards the door and then turned towards me, saying, "You hungry? I'll see if they'll give you something extra. You're looking a little wilted."

Raphael left the room. I sat down, my head in my hands, fear pounding in my chest.

* * *

"You're more than just a disposable minion, aren't you?"

So they knew that I was the son of the Necromancer? What of that? They knew nothing else about me. They knew that I was educated in the art of the necromancer. But maybe they hadn't realized that yet. I was overestimating them.

"You are the Necromancer's son?"

"Yes, and you know that."

"What do you know about him?"

This blue creature was still asking questions. It was no longer the strong, stalwart figure of a few days ago. It wore exhaustion all over its body. Its voice faltered occasionally and looked at the clock after every cycle of its questioning.

"Tired?" I asked.

"What is The Calling?"

"It sounds like the newest drama on ABC."

It took a deep breath. Preparing for the last question.

"Where is Michelangelo?"

"Probably dead in a gutter. Maybe my father will be merciful and send you its head to let you know that it is no longer suffering."

"That was nice. Very distracting." It didn't sound moved in the least. "You are not an ordinary minion. You are the son of the necromancer."

I paused for a second, thrown by the small deviation. "I am not as important as you would think."

It looked at the clock. "What is The Calling?"

The door was flung open and banged against the wall, the force causing it to rebound. No one had entered the room while Leonardo was still questioning and I took a few seconds to process the alteration in the sequence.

It was Raphael. He bore down on me in the time it took for me to register the red bandana. I could see rage in his deliberate strides and I turned to run past him and out the door as he drew his sais.

I do not recall clearly what happened. He attacked, pinning me to the ground. The blows were too fast and I only registered that I had been hit after I felt the pain. He punched me in the face. I put out my hands to shield myself, but he relentlessly punched me again. I grabbed my face, feeling blood seeping out my nose and mouth. He drew his arm back for a third strike and the other grabbed him, throwing him backwards with impressive power. Raphael bounced against the opposite wall and I could hear him breathing like an angry bull.

"Raph! What's wrong with you! Get out of here!"

I could see Raphael's eyes on me. He stared up at his brother, who stood over me, in an attempt block me from him. I only recall vaguely that there was some shouting outside of my cell. I could hear voices because the door was still opened. The red headed April and another turtle that I didn't recognize ran into the room, yelling something. He suddenly lunged at me again and he and the other one hit me with the force of a freight train. Raphael landed in Leonardo's waiting arms and landed a final punch under its arm, making contact with my face, sending the back of my head into the brick wall.


	4. Chapter 4

"Where is Michelangelo?" it asked again.

My head still throbbed from the beating I had suffered the day before. But I was happy. "Every day that you waste asking me questions is another day closer to The Calling."

"I'm well aware of that," it said. We had entered unfamiliar territory. It was talking now. Not much, but anything was welcome. Even its permanently condescending and aloof attitude were an improvement over the mind numbing questioning of the past few days. "Why don't you tell me what The Calling is? You seem quite eager to talk about it."

"What makes you think I want to talk about it?"

"Well, you're the one who keeps bringing it up all the time. I want to talk about my brother."

I tisked at him and shook my head. I could feel pain squeezing the top of my skull and my nose ached with the movement. "You're losing patience, Leonardo."

"You may feel safe with me after what Raph did to you yesterday, but if our brother dies, then I guarantee that your last breath will come quickly."

"Are you threatening me?" Finally, I thought.

"No, I'm making a promise. If they take one of ours, then we must take one of theirs."

I didn't want to talk honor with a mutated animal. "When will Raphael be back?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Why?"

It narrowed its eyes and cocked its head, looking nearly amused at my concern. "He's unavailable. Why? Do you miss him?"

I was silent and it resumed the maddening questions. I lay down and tried to sleep to block out the rest of the day.

* * *

I was awakened some time later by fingers prodding my body. "Wake up, sunshine."

"Raphael?" I asked, drowsily. I craned my neck to see my visitor, but pain shot through my head.

"No, this is his brother. How does your head feel?" Brother? Which brother? The only brother left was Donatello. "It hurts right? I can't say that I'm really surprised. I thought that Raph had broken your skull at first. But I guess you'll live. Sit up and I'll give you some Tylenol."

I dutifully obeyed. It reached out to look at the gash on the back of my head and I pulled back. I knew that that would have hurt Raphael, but Donatello looked vaguely annoyed.

"Don't cheat me out of looking at a bloody wound. You're only hurting yourself if it gets infected anyway. I could care less if you want my subhuman fingers on you."

I leaned forward so that it could see the back of my head. I could feel its fingers pulling the hair away from the gash. "Looks fine," it said.

"Where is Raphael? Your brother said that he was otherwise occupied."

Donatello smiled, looking away at the door. "I know that this is a diversion." It kept watching the door and smiling, as if waiting for someone or something to walk through. "How stupid do you think I am? There's nothing you can gain from Mikey. I mean, maybe a location on us, but your people could do that through proper reconnaissance."

"You talk a lot," I said. I found it interesting, but I was quickly becoming uncomfortable.

"Your people must have known that we would spend all of our resources to find him," it said. "And don't get me wrong, we would and we do."

"I like watching you busy worker bees looking for your lost drone." Keep it distracted. Go for the hurt.

"Yeah, that crap might work on Raph and even Leo when he has a bad day, but you're talking to me now. I know you're the Necromancer's son and that he's taught you enough to know how The Calling works. And so I'm sure that you know the location of the place."

I felt like he was reading my thoughts from the inside out. "I demand that you send Raphael back in."

"You demand?" it asked, smiling back at the door again. "I don't think you're in a position to demand anything. Now, I don't think that your dad's flunkies would keep Mikey in the same place that they're going to conduct The Calling. Too risky. If he escaped…" it laughed to itself. "If he escaped he would be able to report the location and the jig would be up. And for some reason I don't think that The Calling is going to bring fluffy bunnies and Christmas presents to the citizens of New York. It would be a good idea to keep that location separate and secure."

It was right of course. The location of The Calling was totally separate from my father's headquarters, where Michelangelo was most likely being held. I had been warned about this Donatello creature by my father. It was as intelligent as or more so than the common human and would try to outwit me if we ever spoke. I leaned back against the wall and laughed in its face, knowing that nothing it could say would ever persuade me to betray my father or his plans.

"What do you know about embalming fluids?"

Embalming fluids? This was a distressing line of conversation. "They are used to preserve the dead."

"Ah, must come in handy for a guy who tries to control the dead…"

"DOES control the dead…" I blurted out angrily.

"What use would it be to raise the dead if they rot within in a few days? That would ruin everybody's party. I have reason to believe that your father has recently got a hold of a really large amount of formaldehyde and gluteraldehyde, which is also called phenol. They were stolen by your father. I'm betting that it would take a really big warehouse to store all that crap."

I could feel my blood freezing in my veins.

"And you wouldn't want any old person to see it, so it would have to be in a relatively abandoned part of town and you'd have to have some kind of tanker truck to transport the stuff to wherever The Calling is going to go down. Am I on the right track so far?"

"I would expect as much nonsense from a thing like you," I said, although I could hear the fear in my voice, betraying myself.

"Oh, I thought you might be bored," it said, as it reached for something that it had kept concealed. It was a folded up sheet of yellowed paper. "I thought you might want a little souvenir from home. To remind you of your daddy."

It was a sheet out of the Necrometer. The book of instructions and mystical secrets of the dead. I could recognize the symbols that spelled out, "When the dead overcome the living…" But of course the creature couldn't read it. My breathing was panicked and ragged and I tried to calm myself as I shoved the page behind my back to hide it from the thing. How did they get this?

"Well, thank you for that. You may have information about my father, but so far I've heard nothing indicating that you're any closer to finding your beloved Michelangelo. Imagine how lonely he must be? And I know that my father is not nearly as polite to his guests as you are."

It looked at the door again and sighed this time. No smile. Then it said, still staring at the dungeon door. "I've spent days out there thinking up ways to hurt you. Do you want me to list them all? They're pretty creative and leave minimal scarring. My favorite is the tazer. But I have other things to do. I have to go out there and think and come up with solutions to whatever your crazy dad is planning to do to the city. Not sit around thinking up interesting ways to kill you."

It moved towards the door and I heard it say as it left the room. "That's Raph's job."


End file.
